Nan Dixon - Through A Magnolia Filter

Ever since Seamus’s funeral, his appetite had been—off. His meals had been haphazard at best. He’d do better. He’d comply with the schedule Dolley had rattled off. She’d said the hours were in the pamphlet she’d handed him. He’d make sure he didn’t miss meals like he’d been doing in Ireland.

“Sorry it took so long. Jameson is in the library.” Dolley pushed through the doorway. “It’s always there for guests, FYI.”

The room brightened. Why? He turned his photographic instincts to the question. Dolley? It wasn’t just her hair, it was her—her smile—her sparkle. Being in Kilkee had drained him. Maybe in Savannah he could absorb some of her vitality.

“This is great.” He waved his hand over the half-decimated spread of food.

“I could make you a sandwich,” she offered.

He took the tumbler from her hand and their fingers bumped. Awareness surged through him. “This will hit the spot.”

“Would you like company?” she asked.

“Please.”

She took the armchair across from him, curling her feet underneath her trim bottom. She tipped her wineglass. “Welcome to Savannah. Sláinte.”

Her pronunciation was spot-on. “Sláinte.”

They both stared into the fire. He popped grapes in his mouth, enjoying the silence, so different from the cacophony of airports and planes.

“Did you fly straight from Ireland today?”

He shook his head. “I was in New York for a week. Meetings.”

“My sister, our chef, trained in New York.” Her smile dimmed. “I visited when I was seventeen. Not sure I could live there. I enjoy fresh air too much. But the city—everything moved and breathed. It was alive.”

Weird that she mentioned the one thing that bothered him about the city—the smell. “I can never get the stench of petrol out of my nose. I hate the crowds.”

“I love crowds.” Her grin made her green eyes twinkle. “Savannah smells like life to me. Green and growing. And when you get closer to Tybee, the ocean.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “I love it here, but I’d like to see...the world.”

The world? Been there. Done that. “Tybee sounds like Kilkee, but warmer.”

“Kilkee? Is that where you live in Ireland?”

“Only for part of my childhood. Before that I lived in county Kerry.”

“It sounds so—glamorous.”

He shook his head. “It’s a small coastal village.”

“I checked out your website.” She leaned forward. “It’s amazing. I love your Irish landscapes—well, all your landscapes. But the Irish ones made me feel like I was walking a path home to a cottage. Or I’d just stepped into a pub and someone built me a Guinness.”

Her compliment sounded genuine. “Have you been, then?”

“To Ireland? No. Closest I’ve come is Kevin Barry’s pub here in Savannah.” She laughed. “Sad when we’re Irish-Americans, isn’t it?”

“No.” He popped one last cracker in his mouth. “You take the photos for the website, right?”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

“You’ve an excellent hand with the camera.” He tried not to stare at her mouth. He was supposed to be scoping out the territory. But the sight of her lower lip, now wet and slightly pink from her teeth, was...entrancing.

“Me?” Her eyes widened. Her fair skin turned a beautiful peach color with her blush.

“Your photographs are well composed. You use light like an artist.”

“Coming from you, I’m awestruck.” Her hand pressed against her chest. A rather lovely chest, at that.

He forced his gaze up to her face. “Did you study under someone?”

“I took classes in college, but nothing serious.” She shook her head, and her curls danced. “Nothing like what you must have done.”

“I never went to university.”

She leaned forward. “But you’re so good.”

Her frock gapped, and he got a small peek of the valley between her breasts. Devil take his soul, he was having trouble keeping his eyes where they belonged.

“I apprenticed with some wonderful photographers,” he said. “That sounds grander than it really is. I hauled equipment and spent hours in the darkroom, or scrolling and deleting blurred photos, but I watched them work. They critiqued and explained and made me the photographer I am.”

“You were an apprentice.” Her fingernail tapped the cutie-pie curve of her top lip. “I don’t suppose you need one while you’re in Savannah? I really want to learn more.”

“I’ve only had one apprentice.” He exhaled. “It’s a commitment to bring out the artist in a photographer.”

And that hadn’t ended well. Kieran had used him to get ahead. That was expected. But his apprentice had had little patience. He’d falsified a recommendation by using Liam’s own email.

Since Kieran, he’d been reluctant to take on anyone else. His focus in Savannah was his documentary, not training a novice.

But working with Dolley might be another way to absorb the Fitzgerald experience.

“Let me get some sleep.” He stood. “I’ll think on your request.”

CHAPTER THREE

Diligence is the mother of good luck.

Proverb

DOLLEY’S FINGERS BEAT a rhythm on her keyboard. Three o’clock. What was Liam doing? Maybe tea at Fitzgerald House?

She could accidentally run into him there. He might have an answer about taking her on as an apprentice. She rolled her head, easing the tight muscles in her neck.

What would it be like to apprentice with Liam Delaney? Could he be her ticket to showing her family she had creativity, too? She wouldn’t be the youngest Fitzgerald sister anymore. She’d be someone.

Anne poked her head over the cubicle wall. “I’m heading across the street for coffee. Do you want anything?”

“No, but I’ll walk out with you. I need to run over to Fitzgerald House.” She shut down and tucked her laptop in her bag.

Time to stalk Liam Delaney. God, she was sad.

“I heard from Connor,” Anne said, pushing open the door. “He asked me to drive up to North Carolina to visit.”

“You kept in touch?” Dolley would never have put them together.

“We saw each other a couple of times the weekend we met.” Anne started across the street. “Then got together during Thanksgiving.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” She and Anne were friends, close friends.

Anne chewed her thumbnail. “When we met, you didn’t approve of us as a couple.”

“That’s because Connor’s self-absorbed.” Or had been during high school.

“He’s not.” Anne stopped in front of the coffee shop, hands on her hips. “Sure, he likes to talk about his job, but it’s interesting. You should hear what they’re researching. Ways to deliver chemotherapy in fat cells, nanotechnology and injecting tumors with viruses.” Anne shot Dolley a stern look. “What he’s doing could change the world.”

Dolley sighed. “I...I didn’t realize.”

“He’s amazing,” Anne said.

“You don’t need my approval to date Connor.” What did she know about successful relationships?

Anne’s shoulders relaxed. “But he was your friend first. I don’t want this to be between us.”

“Never.” Dolley caught her hand. “I think you’ll be great together.”

Anne squeezed her fingers. “Really?”

“Really.” Dolley hated that her friend had hesitated to tell her about a relationship. Maybe letting her in on her secret might soothe her feathers. “The reason I’m heading to Fitzgerald House is because our long-term guest, the Irishman, is considering whether he’ll take me on as a photography apprentice.”

Anne’s eyes were as big as saucers. “An apprentice?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe he can jump-start my photography career. He must know all the right people. It would be the perfect leg up.”